Story Time
by WildMeiLing
Summary: Ah, the things we do for love. A little something based on an idea that MJLupin had.


_This idea came from MJLupin, who thought it would be amusing to see Joseph read to a crowd of youngsters. I agreed, and since those to whom these lovely characters belong weren't doing anything about it, we decided to take matters into our own hands._

 _It probably goes without saying that I am not the original author of "The Three Little Pigs."_

 _Spoiler alert for "The Three Little Pigs."_ :)

* * *

"I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly."

His disbelief manifested in a clipped, formal tone of address. It was better than the silent stare that had been boring into her whose intensity was in no way diminished by the sunglasses.

He _had_ heard her correctly. There was no doubt about that.

"Joseph, this cold has left my voice so hoarse," she rasped. "I need what little is left of it for talking with the children."

"But Clari-..." He was closing his eyes. She knew from the set of his jaw. When he brought his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose, it was confirmed for her. "Your Majesty. You can't be serious."

They were in a small alcove before the place where the children's wing of the library opened up into a large, airy room, its colorful, whimsical tomes lining the walls on chest-high bookshelves. Technically, he didn't have to use her title, tucked out of the way as they were, but it was better to be safe.

"You read so well." She cast a cautious glance to the space beyond this little cocooned conference before stepping closer to him and trailing her fingers down the lapels of his leather jacket. She felt his chest rise as he sucked in a breath. "You always cheer me up with quirky verses from my favorite poet," she pointed out as she grasped the edges of his jacket near his navel. "Your recitation of Shakespeare gives me chills. And surely you remember what happens when you read Tennyson..."

She could feel his heavy-lidded gaze. "I'm not sure you're setting the right mood for the current situation, my Queen," he warned her huskily.

"Sorry," she replied, realizing she had been a little too convincing.

They regarded each other carefully for a long moment. Finally, he pushed the dark glasses up onto his head. His eyes were wary.

"Let's just be clear on this. You want me to go in there and read."

"Yes."

"To those small, wriggling creatures."

"Yes."

"You want me to go in there and read a silly fairy tale to those small, wriggling creatures."

"I'm not sure that 'The Three Little Pigs' would be classified as a _fairy_ tale, but essentially, yes."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I won't do the voices."

If he needed to feel he had some authority to set boundaries, so be it. As long as the children, waiting expectantly for story time with their Queen, were not disappointed. "That's fine."

His voice dropped even lower. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

"I do," she told him, taking care to infuse the two tiny words with as much gratitude as possible.

"I am doing this for you."

"And for the little ones, of course."

He squinted and gazed over her head as though he were considering that. "No. No, this is definitely for you," he reiterated emphatically.

"You are my knight in shining armor."

"I like to think of myself more as the mercenary type."

"If you'd prefer," she said, her awareness of the time pressing her to wrap up the conversation.

He leaned even farther into her personal space. "You know, mercenaries don't work for free," he whispered suggestively.

She disguised the fluttery tempo of her heartbeat by assuming a more businesslike demeanor. "Perhaps if you were willing to do the characters' voices..." Her own voice trailed off, threatening to give out again. Before he could protest, she waved him on, indicating that they had tarried long enough and that the conversation would have to be over.

For now.

He bowed and swept his arm out grandly. "Your Majesty."

The children's librarian, an eccentric young man with a loud tie, closed a picture book and sprang up from the bean bag where he had been inundated with kids who had mistaken him for a jungle gym that could read to them. The Queen caught his eye, smiled pleasantly, and nodded once.

Joseph swung his head in her direction. "He already knows."

"Relax, Joseph," she murmured.

"But you haven't even spoken to him yet." Realization dawned on him. "You arranged this in advance. Charlotte already called him," he accused.

She amped her smile up from pleasant to brilliant and turned it directly on him.

"You think you know me so well," he muttered darkly.

She patted his arm. Partly to offer him reassurance. More so because he was very attractive when he was pouting and she couldn't resist the opportunity for physical contact.

The fidgety librarian was putting forth considerable effort to appear calm and mellow enough for royal company. The children's parents stood timidly off to the side, straightening their postures. The little ones had no self-conscious qualms about giving into their enthusiasm, and bounded over to greet the Queen. They stopped short when Joseph stepped up next to her. He eyed them sternly. They watched him with guarded expressions.

"Alright, young readers!" the librarian called, clapping his hands and casting an apologetic - and nervous - glance toward various members of the Queen's security team. "Let's take our places and get ready to hear another story!"

The children, glad for the distraction from their more affable friend, raced to their seats on the floor that someone had marked beforehand with Xs made from brightly colored tape. A few of the younger ones wandered a bit before figuring out where they needed to be. Some of the mothers emerged from the crowd to help speed up the process.

As the stragglers were guided to the available spots, Joseph leaned imperceptibly toward Clarisse. "Can I put on the sunglasses?" he queried, his mouth barely moving.

"No."

Once the last of the kids were seated, the librarian addressed them again. From the way he rocked back and forth on his heels, he must have had just as much energy as the bounciest of his patrons. "Welcome to our story hour! For those of you who don't know me, I am Monsieur Leclair. And today, we have a very special guest: Her Majesty Queen Clarisse!"

Sheer, palpable will projected from the parents restrained their exuberant children in a state of semi-hushed awe.

"We were thrilled when Her Majesty told us that she would like to be one of our readers. However, she has had a terrible cold -"

Hands shot up and bottoms bounced in place.

"Have you been sneezing?"

"Does someone make you broth and tea?"

"Do queens go to the doctor?"

"Ooh! Do queens get shots?"

"My sister got a shot in her bum!"

Monsieur Leclair impressively silenced the frenzy of questions and comments in a matter of a few seconds. "Her Majesty had a cold that has caused her to lose her voice. And so -"

"You lost your voice?"

"Where did it go?"

"My papa wishes my mama would lose _her_ voice."

"Are you going to read in sign language?"

"My brother taught me some sign language, and I ended up in the principal's office when I used it."

"- and SO...Her Majesty has asked her Head of Security - the man in charge of keeping her safe - to read for us instead. His name is Joseph."

"My uncle's name is Joseph, but we call him Joe. Can we call you Joe?"

"My cousin's name is Joe, but we call him Joey. Can we call you Joey?"

"My cat's name is Henry."

"I have a hermit crab!"

With a finger held to his lips in a surprisingly, though temporarily, effective gesture, Monsieur Leclair continued. "Let's give Joey our best listening skills. We listen with our ears..."

"OPEN!"

"And we listen with our mouths..."

"CLOSED!"

"And we listen with our eyes on..."

"JOEY!"

"And we listen with our hands..."

"TO OURSELVES!"

"Very good, my little readers! And now without further ado, I present -"

"Joe."

No fun necktie, no shushing gestures, no chanting of listening rules. Not even a pair of sunglasses. He did not remotely resemble a jungle gym. With one word, Joe had established utter silence.

"Er, yes. Joe." Suddenly, the outgoing Leclair's youthfulness was showing: he really was just a bigger version of the children. "Of course." With a shaky flourish, he indicated a low stool next to where he stood.

Joseph didn't have to look at Clarisse to convey his displeasure. She could feel it rolling off of him in waves.

It wasn't that Joseph didn't like children. He was, in fact, very good with them, and usually they were quite enamored of him. However, he was less charmed by them in large groups, where they were governed by what he termed "mob mentality." Besides, when it came to protecting the Queen, he did not appreciate having his focus diverted, no matter how innocuous the setting might seem to be.

But though this head cold had slowed her down a bit and had created a backlog in her schedule, Clarisse hadn't had the heart to cancel her appearance here. Mia would have been a natural choice for a replacement, but she had returned to San Francisco two weeks prior. She needed Charlotte to attend to things back at the palace. So she had secretly chosen Joseph, whose voice lent itself beautifully to reading aloud. And he would be accompanying her anyway, as long as he didn't know beforehand what he was in for.

Joseph settled himself gingerly on the stool that elevated him only slightly above the heads of his audience. Leclair offered the book to him before darting out of the way and folding his lanky, limber form into the beanbag. One of the children nearest him scooted over and leaned his head against the librarian's knee.

Clarisse smiled as she took her seat - a folding chair set off to the side of Joseph's stool and draped with glittery paper chains that made it a child's vision of what a throne should be. Clearly, the children recognized a kindred spirit in Leclair. She couldn't help but think this was how Philippe would have been as a father - a big kid himself whose resident inner child kept him completely relatable. She wished Mia could have known him that way...

Sadness was brushed aside the moment she heard Joseph reading the title. "'The Three. Little. Pigs.'" He punctuated the words with a grim, pointed look at Clarisse.

God, how she loved him.

"Once upon a time, there were three little pigs whose mother had decided it was time for them to go out into the world and make their own way. She packed sandwiches and a few provisions for each of them, put a little something in their coin purses, patted them on the heads, and told them to call when they got settled in to wherever they were going.

"They walked out the front gate and, being independent little pigs, each took off in a different direction.

"It wasn't long before the first little pig met a man who was selling straw. 'Excuse me,' said the first little pig. 'I'd like to buy that straw to build a house.'

"The man hesitated, but despite wanting to unload his wares, he decided to be honest with the little pig, who was obviously clueless when it came to construction. 'Straw isn't such a great option for building houses. You might want something a little more sturdy.'

"'Probably, but I am tired of walking, and there's a nice little patch of meadow over there, and you're here, and I'm here. Besides, if I use straw, I'll be finished and eating lunch in no time.'

"The man shrugged his shoulders and gave him the straw in exchange for the money the little pig's mother had given him. 'Don't say I didn't warn you,' he said."

Clarisse didn't know how they'd managed to end up with such a precocious bunch of children, but she did know it had only been a matter of time before one of them broke the quiet spell of listening.

"Joey! Wait! You forgot the voitheth!" She was a little girl with big curls and even bigger eyes - a tiny version of the Mia they hadn't been allowed to know but would have recognized anywhere. The girl was missing her front teeth, and on her, the toothless look was especially adorable. "The man thelling thtraw and the little pig thound egg-thactly the thame!" she lisped in genuine lament.

Clarisse watched Joseph closely. A few other children piped up in agreement, but Joseph was still looking at the little girl.

He was toast.

Clarisse smothered a grin.

"Of course, how could I have forgotten." He shot a sideways glance at the woman he loved more than his own life before continuing. "I'll try to remember that in the future."

He picked up the story again. "It wasn't long before the little pig had slapped together a few walls. He ran out of straw before the roof was finished, but he didn't care. Sky lights were very trendy, after all.

"He had built his house around a large, flat rock that he hadn't felt like moving and that was now being very useful as a kitchen table. He sat with his lunch spread out before him on the rock table, and was scrolling through his playlist of party songs when he heard a knock on the door. 'Sorry, it's lunch time,' called the little pig. 'Come back later!'"

Joseph paused, the corner of his lip quirking upward the teeniest bit and an ominous glint sparking in his eyes. Clarisse felt a little nervous. _What was he thinking...?_

In a low, gravelly voice he generally reserved for accused traitors, pushy people in crowds, and litter bugs that was sure to scare the socks off small children, Joseph continued. "'I know it's lunch time,' the wolf drawled. 'That's why I'm here. I am a wolf. You are a pig. I am going to eat you.'

The youngsters at his feet moved in closer together. One boy relocated completely behind his neighbor and ducked down out of sight. A tiny toddler quickly identified the feet of her mother and crawled over to sit between them. She peered out from behind her mother's knees.

"'Ha!' scoffed the little pig. His mother had always been going on and on about Stranger Danger and pig-eating wolves, but he was a savvy little pig of the world now, and he knew all that was the stuff of news stories on TV. These things didn't happen in real life. He wasn't worried. 'I'm not worried,' the little pig told the wolf.

"'Alright,' said the wolf. 'Don't say I didn't warn you.' The little pig rolled his eyes. His mom, the straw guy, now this wolf at his door - everyone was always warning him about stupid, unimportant things. 'I'm going to huff...'"

The kids leaned in.

"'...and puff...'"

The kids leaned in a little closer.

"'...and blow. Your house. Down.'"

The kids leaned in closer still. One of them fell over. Their eyes were wide with anticipation.

"'Go ahead and try,' the little pig taunted him. 'This house is made of _straw_.'

"The wolf drew in a deep breath and blew. There, standing next to a rock in a pile of straw that used to be a house, was a little pig who suddenly didn't feel so tough. The wolf was hardly even panting."

"RUN AWAY, PIGGY! RUN AWAY!" shouted a little girl who was especially caught up in the story. Clarisse's security team jumped. Most of the parents chuckled. One man closed his eyes and lowered his head before covering his blushing face with an exasperated hand - the girl's father.

"Is he going to get away?"

"Sometimes the pigs get eaten for real!"

"I hope the pigs don't get eaten!"

"I hope that wolf eats them all up, even the one in the brick house!"

Joseph held up a hand and a miraculous silence descended upon the group. With a solemn air, he flipped ahead a few pages. Then he returned to their spot before looking out at his audience. "The pigs..."

With bated breath, they all leaned forward again, including two of the security guards.

"...do not get eaten."

There was a collective sigh of relief broken by one little boy's disappointed, "Aw, man."

"Now. Shall we continue?" Joseph asked.

"Yes!" the kids cried.

The story unfolded in the usual way, with the wolf moving on to the next little pig's house made of sticks. ("You have to change your voithe again!" the Mia lookalike called out. "If the pigth all thound the thame, we won't know which one ith talking!" The big, bad Joseph complied.) The wolf's attempts to eat the pigs elicited gasps from the children. They were on the edge of their floor seats when the pigs ran for their lives. As the story's plot reached its climax, they were cheering on the little pigs as enthusiastically as fans at a football game - all except for the one boy who was still rooting for the wolf, and who got mad when he fell down the chimney of the brick house and landed in a cauldron of boiling soup.

When Joseph spoke the words "The End," the children hooted happily and clamored for another story from their new, slightly scary friend. Monsieur Leclair popped up and gushed gratefully to the man in black, extending his hand to attempt a vigorous shake, then withdrawing it as Joseph rose slowly to meet him. Clarisse knew it was his creaky knees that slowed his movements, but admired the way Joseph used that to dramatically reinstate the imposing aura of his signature look. The parents looked relieved to be able to accompany their children, hoping to rein them in and calm them down as they waited their turn to talk with the Queen. The security guards shifted importantly, checking watches and clicking buttons and doing little half-spins to show how cool and detached they were, and not at all interested in the story.

Clarisse caught Joseph's eye above the crowd.

She smiled her thanks.

He lifted an eyebrow.

 _You know, mercenaries don't work for free._

She gave him a surreptitious wink.

He lowered his sunglasses. And smiled.

* * *

The End!


End file.
